Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I nodded, and he kissed me hard, then turned to the phone. A few seconds after, he picked it up and said, “Ryder Calloway for the patient in room six. I’m his son.” Silence and then, “Thank you.”
As soon as he hung up, the doors began to open at a snail’s pace. My pulse pounded in my ears so loudly I almost missed his final, “You got this.” But I could never overlook the press of his lips against mine.
I probably should have thanked him or reassured him I wouldn’t collapse or puke all over the floor, but my mouth wouldn’t work anymore. I walked straight through the double doors, feeling like a pirate’s captive walking the plank to my doom. Every step I took brought me closer to a situation I didn’t yet understand but knew would be bad.
The ICU had the distinct odor of disinfectant and despair. High-pitched beeping came from all directions, some short and staccato, while others were drawn out or in multiples. The air felt charged with anxiety and fear. I struggled to force my gaze to the left, where the rooms were, instead staring straight ahead at a bustling nurses’ station. If I didn’t look, I couldn’t see anything devastating.
“Mr. Calloway?”
I startled, then glanced down to find a five-foot-nothing perky woman in maroon scrubs. She had her blonde hair tied up in a neat bun and hideous white rubber shoes. A medical mask hid most of her facial features, except for her eyes, which shone with compassion.
“Um, yeah. That’s me. But you can call me Ryder.”
“Come with me, Ryder. I’m Avery, and I’m the nurse taking care of your father until seven o’clock tonight.”
I followed as she continued to speak.
“Your mother is in with him now. We’re expecting the neurologist soon.” She stopped outside a room with a sliding glass door and a pulled curtain. “It’s always a little shocking for family members to see their loved ones in the ICU for the first time, so let me tell you a little about what you can expect.”
“Uh, okay, thanks.” Maybe a heads-up would keep me from freaking out when I walked in there.
“He has a breathing tube in his throat, but that is temporary. The neurologist will explain it more. Several machines are monitoring him right now, so don’t be startled by the wires, IVs, and tubes. He is stable right now, and the neurologist will explain the plan when she arrives in a few moments. Are you ready?”
Was I ready? Hell no. Did it matter? Apparently not.
“Yes, I am.” My right palm tingled. I’d give anything to have Alex there beside me, holding my hand and bleeding his strength into me.
She slid open the door and stepped into the room, pushing the curtain aside for me. The second I entered the small room, my gaze zeroed in on my father lying still in the mechanical bed in the center of the room. There wasn’t anything else to capture my attention.
Though I’d been warned what to expect, my loud gasp ripped through the room. Avery squeezed my upper arm before moving to a computer mounted on the left wall.
My father lay on his back, completely still but for the rise and fall of his chest. A tube ran from his mouth to a loud machine, which I assumed pumped oxygen into his lungs.
Jesus.
Wires seemed to come from everywhere, leading to a screen mounted near his bed. Multiple lines fed into two separate IVs, one in each hand. Another tube extended beneath the covers to a bag hanging on the side of the bed. It was halfway full of dark yellow liquid.
He looked small and vulnerable, nothing like the business mogul who ran a billion-dollar empire. Nothing like the man who disapproved of my choices and had no problem telling me.
He’d hate anyone seeing him this way. If a photo were leaked to the press, he’d ruin the life of the whistleblower. Strange as it was, he’d probably hate being seen in a gray hospital gown with the horrid geometric pattern more than anything else. The man hadn’t left the house in anything but a bespoke suit or golf outfit in decades.
What now? Was I supposed to talk to him? Touch him?
A delicate throat clearing had me jerking my gaze to the right, where my mother sat in a high-back chair against the wall. She looked terrible—mussed hair, red-rimmed eyes, hands clenched on her lap. I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen her looking anything less than perfect. She didn’t even let her children see her without a full face of makeup and coiffed hair.
My father was—shit, is—her life.
“Mother—”
The curtain slid open, and a tall, willowy woman in a long white coat stepped into the room. “Good morning,” she said in a soft tone. “I am Dr. Travers, one of the neurologists here on staff. Are you here to see Mr. Calloway?”